


Clandestine Meetings

by sumnawaz



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumnawaz/pseuds/sumnawaz
Summary: In the quiet of the night after Solstice celebrations, Elain tries to quietly place Azriel's gifts atop his presents. But can one truly sneak past the spymaster?
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Azriel, Elain Archeron/Azriel, elriel - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	Clandestine Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the Elriel scene in Azriel's bonus chapter at the end of A Court of Silver Flames, but in Elain's perspective! Obvious spoilers for the bonus chapter ahead. All characters + dialogue belong to Sarah J. Maas.

She’d been staring at the small box sitting on her bedside table for a while now, the quiet of her room invaded by the unending thoughts derived from the tiny, innocent looking wrapped box. But the longer she stared at it, the deeper her thoughts went, consisting only of the male the gift was meant for. Elain hadn’t given it to the Shadowsinger when everyone was still around, taking part in the joys and contentment of the Solstice—no, Elain’s plan was to simply leave it among his other presents, hoping he wouldn’t notice the additional present, no matter how small. Though, she knew it was naive to think she could slip anything by him; spymaster he was, but Azriel always seemed to be more attuned to her than others.

Plus, with what lay in the box, Elain had a feeling she’d be on the receiving end of one of Nesta’s lethal glares.

Chewing on her lower lip, her fae hearing she’d learned to become accustomed to told her everyone had retired to their rooms for the night. She hadn’t yet changed out of her gown, too full of an excited kind of energy to slip into her nightgown, the idea of going to bed without giving the gift to whom she meant it for not one she at all considered. The two of them barely had gotten the chance to talk all night with him lingering by the doorway, and Elain all too well knew why. It broke something inside of her, knowing the reason why Azriel stayed so far; her heart, yes, but also something much deeper, something inherent within her she couldn’t quite place but craved.

So with a breath, Elain swiped up the small box in her hand and quietly eased open her bedroom door, greeted by the muted silence of the dark hallway. She neared the end of the hall by the stairs where faelights in the foyer still glinted, the wood chilly under her bare feet as she moved in silence. The house still smelled of the sweet desserts she’d made for the occasion with Nuala and Cerridwen, the tangy hint of wine still lingering in the air as she neared the foyer.

And froze under the archway of the stairs, because as quiet as she may have learned to be, he was the master of shadows, silence itself, and his towering frame trapped the breath in Elain’s throat as she took in the sight of Azriel before her. Tall, with his large, stunning wings tucked in and wisps of shadows circling him, he was his enemies’ worst nightmares. But he was Elain’s favorite source of peace.

His hazel eyes glowed under the faelights, watching her in that intense way that made it feel as though he was looking  _ into _ her rather than at her, as if he could see her down to her very soul. It sent a lick of thrills down her spine, the mask on his beautiful face slipping just a bit to let her see his subtle surprise at her.

“I. . .” Elain swallowed, quickly thinking of a lie to feed him. She hadn’t been prepared for him to be down here, had figured he’d gone off to bed like everyone else. The gift in her hands felt heavy. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either, and Elain didn’t know why she’d bothered with it. She knew he didn’t believe her, and she ignored the threat of heat spreading across her cheeks. Not when she was already prone to blushing around the Illyrian, his mere presence allowing for the butterflies to erupt in her stomach, his gaze feeling like the soft yet shivering graze of petals across her skin. She’d never tire of it.

When Azriel didn’t say anything, only regarded her in that silent way of his, Elain forced herself to move forward. She got close, a foot of space between them, her heart beginning to race and quickening her breath as his scent wrapped around her in a warm embrace; it was one she easily recognized, often craved, of a forest drenched in rain with a subtle hint of smoke— and something that was just  _ Azriel _ . Her hand shook, much to her embarrassment, as she held out the small wrapped box and said, “Here.”

Azriel’s gaze never left her, but Elain watched as his hand reached out to take the box from her, her own gaze dropping to his scarred skin. She couldn’t imagine the pain he’d gone through when he got those scars—didn’t  _ want _ to, because if she did, a white hot rage she never felt before shot through her veins, directed towards the monsters who’d tortured him so. A kind of rage she’d felt only once before, two years ago, when she’d used a precious blade belonging to the very male in front of her to kill the hellish king who’d murdered her father and had tried to kill her sister, too. Yes, it was that same kind of lethal rage that Elain felt when she thought of how Azriel received the scars on his hands.

He’d gotten them in an ugly, horrible way. But they never took away from his beauty, never were something to recoil from. She’d seen his scars, had truly noticed them when she’d felt as though she was trapped in a daze after the events of the cauldron, when whatever powers she had were manifesting, and when the world had felt so bleak and colorless, it was his hands, it was Azriel, in which Elain had found beauty in. It remained true, still.

She watched, chewing on the inside of her cheek, as Azriel carefully unwrapped the box, taking a look at the card she’d written along with it. And when he opened the gift, taking a look at what lay inside, Elain spoke quietly, “You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you. . .”

Azriel chuckled, and the sound resonated so deeply in Elain’s bones that her own lips curled into a small smile. His laugh, though not often heard, was easily one of Elain’s favorite sounds. Hearing it every time felt like a gift, a precious slip of the cold Shadowsinger mask she cherished every time she got a glimpse of it. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.”

The deep drawl of his voice was like melted chocolate. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.”

He returned her smile, and Elain locked away the sight of it into the depths of her mind, meant to be opened whenever she needed a reason to find a smile of her own. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.”

The tug in her chest was painful, knowing all too well why he hesitated, wishing to all the Gods he didn’t have to. But Azriel. . . He always put others above himself, didn’t he? Wouldn’t blatantly cross a line that Elain, for her part, never wanted existing in the first place. But she understood, Gods, she did. She knew Azriel didn’t want to overstep, and she loathed that him giving her a present would seem as such in front of Lucien. Him attending the Solstice hadn’t been Elain’s idea; she’d figured he wouldn’t be around, as he hadn’t been last year. That he would simply drop off his gifts and then leave. But he stayed.

And Elain, as always, looked the other way. Lucien being here. . . It did nothing for her, affected her in no way other than weigh on her suffocatingly. As if him staying close to her was something she should appreciate, when in reality, she much preferred he kept his distance. There was nothing between them. There would be nothing between them. Of that, Elain was certain, because it was  _ her choice _ . She would be damned if she let anyone take it away from her.

Elain looked up at Azriel, his large frame towering over her, never imposing, his tucked in wings glittering mutely under the faelights. And she hoped, with that intent stare, he could see that she understood why he stayed away, kept his distance. She hoped he also saw that she hated that very same distance, too.

In the quiet of the room, Azriel read her face, as easily as he always did, and a silent command prompted his shadows to bring forth a small velvet box Elain’s gaze dropped to, her heart both at peace in this moment yet also racing wildly. She inhaled sharply when Azriel opened the box, noting the backwards movement of his shadows, yet her gaze was glued to what lay within the small box.

It was stunning, the necklace he’d gotten for her. The rose amulet was small and beautiful, resting upon the small cushion in the box, so delicate that Elain was half afraid to touch it. But the warmth spread across her skin; this gift. . . It was so thoughtful, one that Elain knew Azriel had put much thought into, sending her heart into a flutter within her chest. Elain had a feeling that once she put the necklace on, she’d never want to take it off.

She willed her fingers not to tremble as she lifted the necklace from the box, lips parting as the charm glowed against the faelights, its glint reflecting against Azriel’s dark clothing. “It’s beautiful,” Elain whispered, unable to keep the awe from her voice as she admired it, Azriel’s shadows taking away the box. Lifting her gaze to his, savoring the way he’d been watching her so intently, Elain asked softly, “Put it on me?”

Azriel silently took the necklace, and with one hand gathering her hair, Elain turned to give him her back, her heart beginning its slow ascent into a frenzied state. His presence behind her was absolute, a warm wall she desired to melt into as she heard the gentle click of the clasp. Her gaze dropped to the necklace settling around her, the cool pendant resting at the base of her throat, contrasting to the heat spreading through her body at their proximity. She couldn’t ignore it, the fluttering of her stomach, the racing of her heart. She didn’t think she’d felt so alive before.

Azriel’s fingers brushed along the side of her throat, his touch sending a jolt through her body that was nothing short of exciting. She couldn’t help shivering, his callused touch she’d craved for so long as he clasped the necklace. It tugged at something low within her, heated touch, and she needed  _ more _ .

His hand was still after clasping the necklace, his skin against hers searing, and Elain turned into his touch, almost desperate to melt under it, as she fully faced him once again. Until his hand rested completely against her neck, the touch purposeful and heavy and so full of want.

Elain’s heart raced as she peered up at the tall Illyrian warrior, wondering if he could hear it, or if he was also as lost in the way his skin was against hers. She’d craved this for so long, had wanted it so desperately that her need for him was enough to drive her mad. Every lingering stare, every brush of fingers—accidental or purposeful—every small smile were moments Elain cherished deeply, thought of in the dark of the night when she wished the other side of her bed was warmed by just one male. The one in front of her at this moment.

Azriel’s mere presence. . . It woke something in Elain that she never felt before, with anyone. Something Elain would think was saved for two mates. Yet this feeling was only reserved for Azriel. She basked in it.

There was a subtle shift in the air, in the scent that surrounded her, as they drank in the sight of one another, here in the quiet of the room, in the privacy of this clandestine meeting. Two years of being fae and Elain. . . She knew what that change meant, knew it was Azriel’s scent that intensified in a way that made the heat pool low in her own body, her stomach a mess of fluttering butterflies and tickling petals.

A risk, whatever they were doing right now, crossing invisible lines placed between them not of their own accord. A risk others would probably tell her not to take. A risk Elain was ready to dive head first into.

She bit her lower lip for a moment, brown eyes locked onto hazel. “I should leave.” Why did she say that? The words were wrong; three quick ones that spoke of an action she truly had no intention of seeing through, but uttered to see if. . . If he would tell her to listen to herself. She hoped he wouldn’t.

“Yes.” The word was rough on his lips, opposite of the way his thumb stroked the side of her neck, and Elain knew to better listen to his actions than his response. Gods, his touch—it was dizzying, the action wonderfully persuasive in keeping her rooted on the spot, exactly how she wished to be. Each stroke of his thumb poured honey into her blood, a silent plea for her to stay. He didn’t have to ask her twice.

Could he sense it, smell it, her own desperation for him? Elain wondered if she should be mortified of that, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be. Not with Azriel. Not when his touch felt like it belonged on her skin. Elain shuddered, her body pulling itself closer to his own, and Elain yearned for Azriel to take this a step further, to touch her how they both needed him to. 

She lifted her chin just slightly, enough to meet his gaze once more, never once shying away from those stunning hazel eyes that sent an electric shock right to her core. He was so close, the warmth of his body and the intoxicating scent wrapping around her in an embrace she never wanted to be empty of. This felt so right, so natural, and Elain wasn’t afraid to show him just that.

So she looked at Azriel, willing him to see what she didn’t shy away from, willing him to acknowledge that she didn’t care what any preordained force said—her choice was her own. Her choice was  _ him _ . And Azriel never needed words to know what she was saying, and so she let him see it on her face, for she couldn’t lie through that. Not that she would. Never to him.

Elain saw the moment Azriel was ready to give in, to listen to the wants and needs he mirrored, her heart jumping at the confirmation that he was just as tightly wrapped up in her as she was in him. His gaze searched hers and the breath left Elain as she whispered, “Yes.”  _ Yes, yes yes. Always, yes _ .

Azriel’s gaze flashed, that one word from her all the confirmation, the permission, he needed as his hand slid up, leaving an electric trail in its wake that poured into every fiber of her being until his hand was buried in her hair. His fingers tangled in the strands as he tilted her head back, just a bit to the right, just how he needed her to be. Elain’s lips pared in anticipation, her eyes watching him, taking in the need burning in his stare, the desperation of a male allowing himself to give into something he’s wanted for so long—to give into  _ her. _ There was no mask, just Azriel, and Elain’s eyes fluttered shut as she eagerly, earnestly waited for the kiss she’d been seeking for so long.

Heart thundering, Elain could feel him move closer, could feel the pleasant warmth of his breath on her skin as it readied itself for the fire that was sure to erupt once his lips met hers. She wondered, quickly in those moments before he kissed her, how he would feel, taste. Granted, these were questions she’d thought of often, quiet musings she’d never speak aloud, only for herself to dream of, but in this moment, when she was about to receive all the answers she sought, her head was full of nothing but Azriel.

Azriel and his hazel stare filled with intensity. Azriel and the soft, deep chuckle that sent her heart a fluttering mess. Azriel and his small grins that lit up his face even against the shadows he kept close. Azriel and his gentle touches that made her feel so godsdamned  _ alive _ .

Azriel and. . . the kiss that never came.

He’d stopped, freezing right before her, and suddenly all Elain could feel was loss as his hair dropped from her hair and he took a step back. All she could feel was empty when his voice, quiet and rough, muttered, “This was a mistake.”

Elain’s eyes opened and she could swear she felt something break inside. Not a crack, but a proper sensation of something—her heart? Her very soul?—shattering when she looked up at him. A heaviness settled upon her as she peered up at him, noticed the hard tightening of his unforgivingly beautiful features, the near unnoticeable furrow of his dark eyebrows. There was a stinging in Elain’s eyes, but she wouldn’t cry in front of him, wouldn’t give into the heartbreak just yet, because had she done something wrong? Had she read the signs wrong? Had she been too swept up in her own thoughts and feelings surrounding the spymaster and ended up projecting them onto him? What had she done?

“I’m sorry.” The words were a confused, heartbroken whisper that she wasn’t sure she should even say, but were slipping out anyway.  _ What happened, what happened, what happened _ —

There was a crack in Azriel’s mask, so minute and brief she would’ve missed it had she not been watching him. “You don’t—don’t apologize,” Azriel said. “Never apologize. It’s I who should. . .” He shook his head, as if he were at war with himself, and between that and his words, the confusion and hurt only sank deeper in Elain’s bones, instantly replacing the dizzying desire she’d felt just moments before. And then he looked at her, releasing a quiet breath. “Goodnight.”

He didn’t give her the chance to respond, instead winnowing away into the shadows, leaving Elain alone and confused and in a kind of pain that felt almost physical. Her hand pressed against the lower part of her throat, skin meeting the pendant of the necklace still around her neck, and the lump in her throat was thick as she tried to make sense of what just happened. Had she. . . Read it all wrong? 

No, no, she couldn’t have. She’d sensed it, scented it,  _ felt _ it. He’d wanted this, wanted her, just as badly as she’d wanted him. And yet. . . 

She felt ridiculous, felt like a fool, for the tears that gathered in her eyes, relentless and burning. But Elain moved, and with trembling fingers, reached behind her neck to unclasp the necklace she’d been ready to wear every day. Now she couldn’t, wouldn’t, because the feel of the chain would be reminiscent of the touch of a warm, callused hand, and Elain wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

Azriel had left her, so she left the necklace on his pile of presents. It no longer held a precious memory, rather one full of a kind of pain that hurt worse than she could imagine. 

Only when she reached the privacy of her bedroom did Elain allow for the tears to fall, for the frustration to take over. Only then did she wonder if the one choice she’d finally made for herself truly amounted to nothing at all.


End file.
